The Second Rise Of Carn Dum
by eruilluvatargodofgods
Summary: This is a fanfiction based on the LOTR Trilogy. the story begins right after Sauron falls and the ring is destroyed. Embark on another adventure where the evil realm of Carn Dum rises again led a leader corrupted by the spell of Sauron.


**THE SECOND RISE OF CARN DUM**

**PROLOGUE**

A cool wind whistled through the dark forests in the strange country north of the battle plains of Dagorlad. Dawn had come at last yet it was dark under the canopies of the huge trees that sprawled for leagues east of the Brown Lands. The ground was a little damp as the clouds had rained throught the night and there were tramplings of feet clearly visible. Many, hundreds of feet. The rumor was true then. Orcs had fled to the north and east. Where to, no one knew. Not even the Rangers who tracked them.

The Rangers were a group of ten men, a mix of Dunedain Rangers from both the North and South, now clad in elven fashion. Their primary objective was to gather news from the North but as they wandered off from the Black Gate, they found orc tracks that led away from the Black Gate. But that was not strange, After Sauron had fallen, many orc companies were seen fleeing from Mordor, wherever they could. It was only right. Sauron's will was broken and orcs were released from the fear of Him, but now they feared the West which had risen so mightily against them. What was stranger was that there was a pair of human feet among them, like a human was dragged. The Rangers particularly thought that this orc band was upto some mischief. It was their duty to see the human freed.

Orcs were created in the Eldar days when the West of Middle Earth was strong, yet where the the seeds of darkness were sown. They were elves once, mutilated by the Dark Lord, of whom Sauron was but a servant. There were many tribes as such and lived like any others, only that they were easily lured towards the evil ways and often mounted assaults on their own kind too. They served both Morgoth and Sauron during their dominions, but in fact, only a few showed true loyalty towards the Dark Lords, many served them in fear. They all came under the spell of the Dark Ones and even now when they had been shut in the Void beyond Arda, the spell was not completely broken. They harbored still the hatred they had for the West and anger still festered in their cruel hearts. Yet they were now leaderless and ran into hiding, when otherwise they knew would be killed. This band of Orcs though seemed like the one really loyal to Sauron and the Rangers foresaw great danger if they were allowed to escape to other places unknown. Not now maybe, not in the near future but who knows when. They cannot be allowed to multiply. Dark shadows needed to be nipped in the bud, they knew.

The sun had almost risen in the east and was climbing up the azure sky. The Rangers could still see it whenever the trees withered for a while, the denseness of the forest giving way to small clearings. Their feet stepped lightly onto the wet soil. Their leader, by the name of Alcarin, the ranger from the northern realm of Arnor, knelt down on one knees and put his fingers onto the ground, deciphering the tracks of the Orcs. The others stood around him, waiting and listening to the forest sounds. Birds chirped in droves, returning back to their old haunts. Ever the nests lay empty when Mount Doom constantly erupted in flame and Sauron ruled the dark lands to the east. Now they were being repopulated and surely that was a good sign.

The orc tracks seemed to lead away a good distance into the north. The Rangers were murmuring, tired from their journey and the battles before but they would dare not relinquish their quest. Such was the perseverance of Numenor.

Alcarin stood up and lo! everyone marked how tall he stood at that moment. Hooded in elven green, a star pendant dangling upon a dark green thread near its cape, his cloaks bearing the same colour, joined with the hood by a pinched Dunedain Star. His fair clean shaven face was still young but he was only fifty. He looked more like an elf than a man. He was nimble and athletic. In his one hand, he held a great bow made of yew. On his hips, he wore a dark belt made of a strange leaf interwoven in narrow threads. On the right side, a silver scabbard hatched itself to the belt. The scabbard carried a long sword bearing a red pommel on its hilt. Its steel was rumored to be very sharp and pointed. Made by the elves. A brown ranger's belt hung from his shoulder and joined at the behind of the scabbard. A quiver full of silver arrows was latched onto the brown belt.

"That way!" he pointed, his finger towards the north, his voice beginning to get rough.

The Rangers nodded his head and started running towards the pointed direction, Alcarin at their head. They were off some two leagues when at their front, they saw a man tied in rags tightly around a lone tree which stood at the centre of a small clearing. His raiment seemed to be bloodied, his body gashed at several places, dark red blood oozing through the wounds. They ran towards him. He was uttering words in a strange tongue, but the Dunedain from Arnor understood. It was the tongue of Rhovanion, the language of the folk of Wilderland. What he was doing so far east, Alcarin wondered.

The man's mutterings came in gasps as the Rangers untied the knots. As the man lay upon the ground, he spoke in the Common Tongue, his eyes growing wider and redder. It seemed he somehow recognized the fact that these Rangers knew not his tongue.

"The…Orcs…they went north." He said.

"So we found, stranger from the North. We followed their tracks and they seem a day old."

The man nodded slightly.

Alcarin had his chin thrust in the widened gap between his and had thrown back his hood to reveal long black hair that streamed across the sides of his face till his neck. His forehead was a little furrowed as he looked long at the dying man.

"How are you so far east?" asked Alcarin.

"I travelled with a small group of soldiers from the land of Beorn away north towards what we call Carrock." His breath now came in gasps. His chest was heaving heavily. He paused before he spoke again, "We were going towards Sauron's southern fastness of Dol Guldur. In a mishap, I got separated and not knowing the way to our camp, I wandered far to the South. I somehow knew I was going the wrong way as I sighted from afar across the Great River the canopies of golden trees that were somehow hidden slightly under a diminishing power of white mist. Black smoke rose upon its borders. I turned eastward then. I saw great smoke also towards the north, and I set forward because I could see fires lit in the far off forests. I did go close before I found out they were orc camps and not that of my men. I ran away sensing this was the holdness of the Necromancer who now ruled far south from Mordor. But his lieutenant, Khamul, was by no far less terror. I thought of going roundabout Mirkwood and probably know more of what enemies were doing and so come to the elven strongholds of the north but I was sidetracked. Middle-earth boasts of many dangers that lurk in many paths. So it as that I came further eastward and I turned north when I saw the battle plains loom south. But then, I heard the Nazgul screeching and the Tower westwards shaking. Somehow hope leapt up in my heart and I found my feet taking towards Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. But unfortunately, I bumped into a band of orcs flying northwards. I slew as many as I could but fate had already proclaimed my death. I have lain here since nursing my strength, delaying death, but now I find it is of no use. I think now that I have seen you, I could rest in peace and go to the halls of my fathers. Although as I lay here cut and wounded, I heard the orcs speaking something about the northern wastelands."

He paused. His eyes were slowly closing down. The life force seemed to be leaving him.

"I think it was my fate to meet you here in such a condition and now that I have told you all I know, I can sleep. But just, I warn you, I feel a threat in my heart, that these Orcs are upto no good and they travel fast. Also, they carried a human like thing, half dragged him along. I do not know what it was but it was terrible to behold."

Saying, his eyes closed down, his lips slowly bidding adieu.

Alcarin raised himself up. A ranger closed in on him, "Do we follow the Orcs?"

Alcarin shook his head. "No, they would be far by now. We must go back south. Before we do, we must give this brave man a proper burial. Start digging the ground. He shall rest in the soil of the land he tried to protect."

"Erebor will get those orcs." shouted another Ranger.

Alcarin looked doubtful. "I do not think so. If they avoided that land, no."

Alcarin gave orders for the ground to be dug and so the Rangers did. The dead man was already lowered into his grave. The Rangers had their heads down murmuring a song in elven tongue. As they did, the sun began to shine brightly on the covered grave, drying up the wet ground.


End file.
